Seven Sins
by Kitty-Kat Allie
Summary: AU Antonio and Lovino have to deal with not only the sudden tumult of emotions neither was expecting, but also with the heartbreaking mistakes and decisions that come with it.
1. Envy

_Kitty: I've been wanting to write this baby for a while, but it's going to be an emotional roller coaster and… real-life-ish. Like, I'm going to be doing research and talking to friends and stuff. This is going to hit home for a few people, too, so any and all critique is welcome. Each chapter will be based on a "Sin" from the Seven Deadly Sins of Catholicism, though I may end up repeating a few. We'll see._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Nor am I gay, a man, or have first had experience with __**some**__ of what's ahead._

_Rated M: graphic language, adult situations, and religious issues. Yes, you read that. Religion. I will attempt to keep my own personal opinion out of this. Any and all sex scenes will not be featured here, though it will be uploaded onto AO3 at some point to account for this egregious lapse._

Seven Sins

Chapter One

Envy

Antonio twirled his pencil between his long fingers, a frown etched on his normally carefree face. _Normally_, he would have already finished working out the tiny details, the measurements, the scales, the angles, curves, and arcs. _Normally_, he would be blissfully humming and tracing line after line and forgetting the time completely. _Normally_ wasn't today, however. Today was not normal for him at all.

Maybe it was something in the air. Maybe it was something in his coffee earlier that morning? Maybe it was the way the sunlight fell on his blueprints, the way his eraser shavings never seemed to blow away, or maybe it was the way his chair was digging into his thighs? Whatever it was, Antonio was sick of it.

He threw his pencil down in disgust, staring down at his half-finished plans, scratching his already unruly hair. He hadn't been this uninspired since that one time in college when he had gotten too drunk with Francis and Gilbert the night before a project was due. He slumped back in his chair, bright, green eyes glaring at his window angrily. He jumped about a foot high when his phone suddenly let out a loud shrill. Chuckling, he slid off his chair and sauntered towards the living/dining/bedroom that took up a small portion of his sunny Italian studio. Though Spanish in origin, he had eventually found his way to Rome, Italy to pursue his career as a budding architect. Gilbert had stayed behind in Berlin, and Francis had made his way back to Paris, but Antonio had always been the one with itchy, wanderlusting feet.

Perhaps _that_ was the reason for his weeklong distemper? When was the last time he'd gone out and done something _new_?Met _someone_ new? He picked his cell phone just before the last ring ended, contemplating this thought rather seriously. He normally didn't do "introversion," but now seemed the proper time for it.

"_Bueno, _Carriedo speaking," he answered in reflex.

"_Buongiourno, _Tony! It's me, Bella!" a cheery feminine voice trilled on the other line. Antonio's mouth automatically curved upwards.

"_Bellita_, your new Italian boyfriend has really helped out your Italian!" Antonio laughed. He laughed again hearing her soft noise of discontent.

"My accent wasn't _that bad_, no matter what you and Ned say. Besides, you still have a Spanish accent, no matter what language of the _twenty _you speak," Bella retorted sharply. He could hear the laughter in her voice, though, so he knew she wasn't very serious about scolding him.

"I only speak about six. But thanks!"

"About six. I barely speak two," she muttered under breath.

"Don't forget English."

"I try to. All the time," she sighed.

Antonio chuckled. Her English _was _pretty bad. It was lucky _he_ knew Dutch passably well or he never would have become the young girl's friend. They had met during one of his touring summers of college. He applied to as many study abroad programs as he could, at least half of them Gilbert had joined him on, but the German had never been as excited about them as Antonio. Antonio had gone to Belgium and Holland just a few years ago and had met the cute, young blonde during the tour of Keukenhof, the famous tulip fields in Holland. She had been taking picture after picture of the scenery, including the people. In broken Dutch, English, and Italian, Antonio had learned she was from Belgium, a first year college student in photography, and was learning Italian so she could transfer to a school in Rome. Antonio knew Italian because he had taken classes there for an entire year. Their mutual interests led them to becoming pretty good friends during the weeks they were both in Holland, so that when they parted ways, they'd exchanged online contact information. Antonio was pretty flighty, but Bella had kept up the communication until she wrote to tell him she had finally moved to Italy and he had replied that he had just been offered a job there. Their friendship had been re-struck immediately, but it had never deepened beyond something cheerful and platonic.

Antonio adjusted his phone on his shoulder as he made his way through the mess of his studio towards the bathroom (bath_closet_ really) to wash the ink and graphite off his hands. "What did you call me up for, _Bellita_?"

"Are you free today?"

Antonio thought about the incomplete blueprints for the new wing some government official wanted add to some obscure library. Wait, was it a museum? Or a college? He mentally shrugged. "Yup."

"Great! I want you to meet Lovino!" she cried out ecstatically. Antonio's eyebrows rose.

"I thought he hated strangers and wanted nothing to do with me?"

"Oh, well, you see, I talk about you all the time, of course. And he gets so frustrated when I text you while we're in bed-" Antonio choked on air, somewhere between horror and amusement- "don't be a prude. You know you're not. So he finally decided to meet you! He wants to see if you really are as handsome as I say you are! Lovino is _so_ competitive. It's adorable, really!"

Antonio's amusement finally won out. "You're a piece of work," he finally got past his laughter, shutting off the tap and shaking his hands.

"I don't understand. What does that mean?"

"Never mind. When do I meetchyo old man and you?" Antonio asked, glancing towards the digital clock lying on the floor at his feet. He absently noted that he hadn't managed to throw it out of its plug today when it woke him up.

"How about… in two hours? He gets off work then," Bella finally decided a few moments later.

_So… about six, then._ "Isn't he a… uh…cook?" he trailed off hopefully.

"He works in an art gallery! His _brother_ is a chef!" Bella huffed. Antonio rolled his eyes.

"If you didn't tell me all kinds of stuff at once, I wouldn't get confused."

"As if," Bella retorted flatly, using one of her favorite American-English idioms. "We'll meet at his brother's restaurant for dinner. I'll text you the address. Don't you dare be late, _or_ show up dressed like a mess! He'll kick you out before you can blink!"

"Fine, I'll pull out something from the back of the closet," Antonio grumbled. He hated dressing up. Why couldn't jeans, a T-shirt, and sandals be acceptable outside in the streets of Rome? He always got such dirty looks when he went out just for a _bagel_, or just going to buy tomatoes and pasta at the nearby grocery store.

"_Iron it_."

"_Fine_."

"Love ya, Tony!" she chirped. Antonio rolled his eyes.

"_Si, si_, good bye. I have ironing to do." She hung up laughing. It really was too bad there hadn't been more than casual attraction between them Antonio thought as he tossed his cell on to his unmade bed. She really was adorable and cute. She should've been just his type.

But after London… he stopped trying to figure just what his type was. He sighed as he flung open his wardrobe's doors. He never liked thinking about London… or the _occurrence_ that began there. He had confided to Francis and Gilbert one drunken night and both had actually been cool enough never to mention it again when he asked them not to. So, like he usually did when London popped up in his head, he pushed it back, _back_, into the recesses of his mind and began to pull and yank on his shirts to look for one "acceptable" enough for Bella.

.

He, though horrible with remembering _facts_, was really good with directions. Probably all those days of wandering around Europe and the Americas had helped, or it might have been because he was good with dimensions and city-plans, but he rarely got lost. Also, unlike a lot of people, every building stood out specifically in his mind, each its own personality and façade. He _remembered_ buildings and artwork, which was truly everywhere if one knew how to look. He just remembered the things he'd seen and found himself back at his starting point easily. So, with Bella's horribly texted directions only, he hadn't gotten lost once on his way to the tiny Italian restaurant. He sauntered up towards the buildings, eyeing the structure with a trained eye. Simple, elegant, friendly. Nothing too ornate or ostentatious. A plain, square, white building, brightened with potted flowers, a bright red door, and yellow awning over mismatched chairs and tables. Tiny glass vases sitting on hand-made doilies were sitting on the center of every outdoor table, a single pink geranium standing tall in the clear water. Antonio pushed open the door, grinning up at the silver bell that jangled cheerfully over his head. He always loved bells hanging over doors. There was something so welcoming and homey about them as they announced your arrival. He glanced around the bright, clean restaurant. Inside, the tables and chairs were a bit more regular, made of wood and all cut in the same design, but all painted different, vibrant colors. Tablecloths were spread over the indoor tables patterned in pale yellow and bright red flowers, and, like the tables outside, a single geranium stood in little glass vases. There were maybe a dozen tables, which was quite a bit for such a little shop. Near the entrance to the kitchen Antonio spied a bright blonde head. He navigated through the tables quickly.

"_Bellita_! I'm not late, am I?" Antonio called out as he neared. Bella turned around, her green eyes lighting up with her smile.

"TONY!" she cried out in excitement. She was on her feet and throwing herself into Antonio's arms before he'd quite made it to her table, or seen her reclusive boyfriend. "Oh, you're just in time! We always get here early to chat with Feliciano. Oh, don't you look _handsome_! You remembered my advice about red, I see!" Bella's eyes twinkled and she leaned back and took in the full effect.

Antonio looked down at himself, vaguely confident he had put himself together pretty well. He wore a pair of black slacks without even a speck of paint on them (he had no idea they existed), and a dark crimson silk shirt that Francis had bought him for Christmas a long time ago. His satin black tie was shiny and new, even though he wore it much too loose. He wore a white belt (the only one he could find, because he really didn't have many to begin with) and brown shoes.

"So, I did good, right?" Antonio asked, grinning and wagging his eyebrows.

"Other than your offensively ridiculously choice of shoes, you really aren't horrible," retorted a voice sharply from behind Bella. Bella giggled as Antonio leaned around her, eyes wide in surprise, his mouth tugging into a smile.

And he felt like someone slapped him in the face.

He was sitting there, leaning back in his chair, amber eyes glaring at him inscrutably, perfect mouth turned down into a frown. His arms were crossed over his chest and one foot was lying over the opposite knee. He was dressed to kill with dark grey slacks with darker pin-stripes and a bronze blouse. His belt and tie and shoes were all black and shiny, as if brand-new, and a classy leather wristwatch peeked from under his cuffs (he was wearing _real gold cufflinks!_). His dark hair was stylishly mussed, with only a single, long curl standing free. His slender, arched brows rose, his lips curling a little more in disgust.

"You look like a fucking idiot gaping like that, _Spaniard_," the Italian snapped as heat rose in his face. He looked puzzled, angry, and wary.

"Uh… yeah. I'm Antonio. And, uh… I'm sorry, you are?" Antonio asked, his tongue fumbling with the words. He was never this awkward, _never_. What was going on? Both Bella and the Italian stared at him. Bella burst into giggles just as the Italian narrowed his eyes.

"She told me you were pretty oblivious, but this is borderline _brainless_. I'm Lovino Vargas, you fucking idiot," Lovino answered.

Antonio felt slapped in the face again. He really should have known that. Who _else_ could it have been? But the image of this beautiful young man being Bella's boyfriend just never occurred to him. Surely this had to be a joke. Not that Bella wasn't beautiful in her own way, but this Italian with his snarling mouth and flashing amber eyes had to be single, had to be for- Antonio shook his head briskly and laughed, though it sounded odd in his head. Out of place with the warring of emotions he couldn't name.

"Of course! That was kinda dumb of me, huh? It's nice to finally meetcha, Lovino!" Antonio replied, stepping out to hold out his hand. Lovino scowled.

"You barely speak our language, but you're going to butcher it further with all your damn slang?" Lovino grumbled, holding out his hand with obvious reluctance.

"It's easier to speak with slang, _si_? I learned most my Italian in pubs," Antonio told him, grinning. He grasped Lovino's hand to shake. A slender hand, warm and smooth, a firm grip. Antonio's hand felt huge wrapped around his, his fingers and palm rougher from work, and his skin a slightly darker shade than Lovino's olive-tone. He wanted to touch more, slide his fingers over the fragile bones of Lovino's wrist and stroke the thin skin over the steady beating pulse. He quickly pulled his hand away, his fingers flexing at his side as Bella sat back down.

"No wonder your Italian is so… unpleasant," Lovino sneered slightly. He hadn't seemed to notice Antonio's reaction.

"Be nice, Lovino! Not everyone is born Italian! And my Italian is so much worse than Tony's. Sit, Tony, go ahead. He likes you fine," Bella confided with a wink as she patted the empty seat. Lovino sputtered indignantly at this as Antonio laughed.

The table was small and round, with four chairs sitting around it. Bella and Lovino had seated themselves directly across from one another, so the empty seat was technically in between them. Antonio ignored the subtle leap in his pulse as he took his seat. To his right, Lovino was mumbling angrily and looking like an affronted cat. Antonio wished he could just lean over and stroke his neck to soothe him like any other disgruntled kitty. He had to twist his fingers into to the fabric of his slacks to stop himself. Where was this need to touch coming from? Why was it so hard to keep his eyes off the grumpy Italian? Even when he turned to Bella, he kept Lovino in his peripheral vision.

"Order anything you want, Tony. Lovino is treating today. He gets a discount, you know, because this is his brother's restaurant. Not only that, but his brother is the head chef and will _personally_ make our meals. His food is the best in the world! Nothing compares!" Bella sighed dreamily, almost salivating just thinking about it.

"I don't cook half bad," Lovino grumbled. Bella laughed, throwing back her head with gusto.

"If you _ever_ cook! We've been dating six months and you've only cooked once for me! You always call your brother and make him cook it for you!"

"I don't have fucking time to cook, Bella. I do own an _art gallery_," Lovino retorted, blushing beet-red. Antonio grinned, mesmerized by how adorable Lovino's sulking face was. That blush was too cute. Antonio mentally promised himself to make Lovino blush again… a lot.

"Tony?" Bella said sharply. Antonio broke off his train of thought and glanced round at her.

"Sorry, what?"

"Bastard, don't just fucking ignore her!" Lovino snapped.

"Oh, calm down, Lovino. He's really busy, you know!" Bella said quickly, flapping her hands at him. Antonio rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, _Bellita_. I don't know where my head is these days," Antonio apologized lamely. Bella smiled at him.

"It's _fine_, Tony. I was just saying you should show Lovino some of your work!"

"My work?" Antonio cut his eyes towards the fuming Italian. "Are you looking to expand? I have a few projects already promised, but I should be able to come up with something for you." _Mayors and libraries be damned. If you want to build a castle, I'll toss the others out the window._

"No, you fucking idiot! I run a _gallery_! She said you paint shit and wants me to look at some of it!"

Understanding dawned. "_Oh_! _Bellita_, you know how I feel about that," Antonio pointed out, his gaze back on her face. His tone was serious and low. She fidgeted a bit, blushing.

"Come _on_, Tony! You're so good and you have so many! You should share all that beauty! It's a gift, Tony. I'm serious, Lovino. You would _love_ his paintings in your gallery," Bella gushed, reaching to hold Antonio's hand in both of hers. "Please just show him, Tony!"

"Why don't you want your paintings in my gallery? It's small, but highly recommended. I have all the top artists and a lot of the local talent showcased. Nothing stays longer than a year- well, five years _at the most_. My clientele are prestigious and generous to artistry," Lovino said smugly.

"It's not that. I paint… I paint to feel. When I feel so much, when I can't possibly hold it inside my head anymore, I have to paint. Sometimes, I don't even plan it. Those are my feelings on the canvas. I don't want to sell my own heart," Antonio explained, shaking his head with a slight frown. With his eyes closed, he missed the wide-eyed astonishment on Lovino's face. For a single moment, genuine respect shone in Lovino's light eyes. His face shuttered closed, hiding the lapse.

"You're such a poet, Tony, but so silly! You're not selling your heart!"

"Bella, it's fine," Lovino interrupted. She glanced at him, her mouth opening to protest, but he raised his hand. "Don't force him to do anything. It is _his_ art. I would like to see them, though. I own a gallery for a reason. I love art. When I look at a painting, a sculpture, any form of art, I want to _feel_ something. True art invokes emotion. I'm addicted to that, seeking and finding beauty is the main reason I do what I do. Selling it is a secondary goal with pleasant benefits," Lovino smirked at Antonio, who grinned back brightly. Antonio made another mental note to see Lovino's real smile _soon_.

"_Bellita_ is too nice about my paintings. I took some art in college, but it's really just a hobby. I'm an architect by trade," Antonio shrugged easily.

"Yes, Bella already told me that. Unlike some idiots, I remember what she tells me," Lovino replied pointedly. Both Bella and Antonio laughed.

"Lovi~ Who is this handsome Spaniard in my restaurant?" asked a cheerfully singsong voice. Antonio glanced up and blinked.

The young man approaching was almost Lovino's double. He was a little chubby around the edges, and his whole face was lit with a smile, though. His hair was a lighter shade of auburn to Lovino's dark brunette, and his eyes were half-lidded, hiding whatever color they were beneath thick lashes. The man held out his hand, that pleasant smile never leaving his soft lips.

"I'm Feliciano Vargas, Lovi's younger brother. Welcome to _Caffé Rosso_," Feliciano greeted him. Antonio shook his hand.

"I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. I like your café. It's very colorful and happy," Antonio told him. Feliciano laughed aloud and clapped his hands in delight.

"Oh, I _like_ you, ve~ Are you single?"

"Excuse me?"

"_Feliciano!_" Lovino snapped. Feliciano pouted.

"I'll never get a date if you keep treating me like a child."

"Oh- I'm s-sorry, I d-don't- I'm n-not-" Antonio stammered, blushing wildly. Feliciano, Bella, and Lovino all stared at him.

"_Really?_ Well, _there_'_s_ a blow to the self-esteem," Bella muttered under her breath. Antonio gaped at her.

"You thought I was _gay_?" Antonio choked.

"But I hit on you, like, a dozen times, Tony! I even slept with you a few times! Nothing ever happened! I thought I was obvious! I gave up when I realized you were gay- but now you're not?"

"Yes! I mean, no! Wait, what do I mean? You really think I'm gay?" Antonio groaned, ducking his head and grabbing his hair. Feliciano laughed, covering his mouth with his hand, his whole body trembling.

"How about I just make us some pasta and forget all about this?" Feliciano supplied helpfully.

"Please, Feli, please," Lovino mumbled, rubbing his face with his hand and looking a little sheepish about something. Feliciano nodded, turned on his heel, then spun back around to look at Antonio.

"If you ever change your mind, Antonio, you let me know," Feliciano teased, his eyes open to reveal big brown eyes that successfully made him the most adorable person Antonio had ever laid eyes on. He had the face of an Italian angel. Then, Feliciano winked and sashayed away. Antonio gaped after him, his face bright red.

"Se-seriously?"

Bella giggled as Lovino groaned in embarrassment.

"If Mama were alive- I just… My brother is very openly gay. If it bothers you, I'll tell him to cool his fucking heels," Lovino offered, being contrite for once. Antonio finally saw the humor and began to chuckle.

"No, no, it's fine. He's cute and I like him. I guess I don't mind flirting a little, but I'll make it clear that's where it stops. We're both adults, _si_?"

"Yeah, well, don't break his heart, or I'll cut off your fucking balls."

As the night wore on, it only got better. The pasta Feliciano brought was probably the best Antonio had ever eaten. It was even loaded with extra tomatoes. Apparently Lovino and Feliciano liked them just as much as Antonio and used them a lot in their recipes. They drank fine red wine and had espresso afterwards upstairs in Feliciano's rooms over the café. It closed pretty late at night, but Feliciano had enough employees to close it down for him, and they four hung out on his tiny, wrought-iron balcony while the night life of Rome erupted around them. They sang popular Italians songs, talked about art, photography, and cooking. They even got Antonio to talk about his work, his _actual career_, not his discarded canvasses, and Lovino seemed almost as passionate about architecture as Antonio. Feliciano had explained it was in their blood, having Sicilian relatives from their father and Southern Italy was renowned for its architecture. Somehow, Antonio had managed to make his way home- vaguely remembering Lovino calling for a taxi from the balcony.

He stumbled his way upstairs, not drunk, but buzzed enough to be a little klutzy. When he managed to swing open his door, he kicked his shoes across the studio, ignoring the bangs as the leather soles smacked into some unknown wall, and then flopped all the way down to his bed, which was basically a thick mattress on the floor. He stared up at the ceiling, face flushed from wine and a strange sort of breathlessness. For some reason, he couldn't get Lovino- sharp-featured and even sharper-tongued Lovino with his teasing little smirk and distracting little curl- out of his head. All night long, he'd used any subtle excuse he could to touch him, but it had only made his fingertips, his elbow, his knees, every inch that had brushed so innocently against Lovino's, burn as if touching melted wax on the candle. The idea that Bella could very well be sleeping with him now, in some ritzy flat with tasteful and expensive art everywhere, because that fit Lovino to the ground, made him sick to his stomach. He wanted to punch something just thinking about it.

Why… why did he… feel so… so damned envious? Of course he didn't want to be there, in Lovino's bed, or waking up next to him the next day. That was ridiculous. The wine, and Feliciano's flirting, and thinking about London earlier, yeah- all of that was making him go crazy. There was no way he was jealous of Bella having such an amazing boyfriend. Definitely not.

It didn't stop him from dreaming about when Lovino sang, holding a cup of coffee in his slender, beautiful hands as they looked out over Rome earlier that night.


	2. Avarice

_Kitty: All right, truckin' onward. *apprehensive* I hope I get in contact with my friend before the next chapter. Which is when sh*t goes down. *sweats*_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Rated M: graphic language, adult situations, religious issues._

Seven Sins

Chapter Two

Avarice

Antonio woke the next day rejuvenated and excited for the day. Compared to yesterday's ennui, he was a giant ball of energy- and he didn't even need the Italian morning staple, coffee. He whistled as he showered, as he cooked a light breakfast of eggs and toast and fresh tomatoes, as he doodled on the blueprint he couldn't concentrate on before. His head didn't even hurt, which wasn't totally surprising, since he hadn't drunk much the night before and it had been well-mixed with food and coffee. He had just finished his daily allotted amount of work when his stomach rumbled for lunch. He actually dropped his pencil in surprise, quickly looking out his window to see it had already become at least two in the afternoon.

Antonio leaned back, a smile playing on his lips. He really had no idea why he was so cheerful today, but he wasn't one to question happiness. He let his mind wander, lazily trying to figure out what he should have to eat. It was getting late, and if he didn't hurry, all the shops would close for the afternoon siesta. In fact, a few of his favorite places he _knew_ to be already closed.

Then, an image of bright red and yellow and green seared into Antonio's brain, accompanied by the smells of pasta and wine. _Caffé Rosso_. He had no idea how long Feliciano left his restaurant open for lunch, but with a sudden burst of energy, he was on his feet and running for the door. He was going to find out.

.

When he entered _Caffé Rosso_ not much later, the last patron had just left. A waiter and waitress were clearing up the tables and another young woman was counting the till.

"I'm sorry, sir, we're closed until the evening re-opening," the waitress informed him pleasantly, looking him up and down and smiling appreciatively. "If you like, you can come have lunch with me."

"Felicia!" the young man snapped, blushing brightly.

"Felicia? It's kinda funny, you look like Feliciano and you act just like him, too!" Antonio joked. Felicia blinked.

"You know my uncle? HEY, UNCLE! THERE'S A HOT SPANIARD HERE FOR YOU! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE GETTIN' LAID, YOU JERK!" she shouted, walking back towards the kitchen. Feliciano popped his head out the doorway, his face confused.

"I'm getting laid?" Feliciano asked. "Why didn't anyone tell _me_ this, ve?"

Antonio laughed out loud. "Wait, wait! I just came here for food."

"Oh, don't think you can fool me. I know that euphemism already," Felicia scolded, brown eyes twinkling. Everyone else laughed, and Feliciano grabbed her shoulders.

"This is Antonio… eh, I forget all the other names. He is Bella's friend," Feliciano explained. He look over to Antonio, his eyes open rather than lazily half-closed, treating Antonio to his beautiful, mischievous brown eyes that looked a lot like Felicia's. "Are you really only here for the food? Surely you came for the company, too?" Feliciano prompted, pouting a little.

Antonio grinned. "Yeah, I couldn't get enough of the food _or_ the company last night. But if you're closing up, I think I can find some Panini place or something."

Everybody in the restaurant gasped in horror.

"Panini? God forbid! You can't come to _Caffé Rosso_ and not eat with me and instead eat some fast food sandwich! When you crave pasta, you _get_ pasta," Feliciano replied, rushing over to grab Antonio's hand and tug him towards the kitchen. There was something about the younger man's smile and tone that made "pasta" sound like something sinful.

Feliciano led Antonio to a small room off the kitchen, cramped with comfy armchairs and creaky, wooden tables. The walls were a mellow yellow with postcards and black and white photos tacked to the walls of all the different cities and landscapes of Italy. There were wooden cabinets built into the far wall where purses, shoes, random articles of clothing, and bottles of various drinks were stashed. Feliciano sat Antonio down in one of the armchairs and smiled.

"What would the _signore_ like to try today?" Feliciano joked. Antonio couldn't help but grin.

"Whatever you're in the mood for, 'cause you're going to join me, _si_?"

"_Si!_ I'll whip up something delicious, then! Just for us two, though," Feliciano told him, winking and then sauntering away.

Antonio chuckled and leaned back, studying the photographs until the employees filtered in. He joked with all of them cheerfully, shaking their hands and getting each one's name. Felicia kissed both his cheeks as she left, brown eyes twinkling with their earlier mirth and mischief.

"If you ever change your mind, my uncle is a great guy. Of course, I'm available, too," Felicia offered as an afterthought. "I've got a really comfy bed if you'd like to come test it out."

"Sounds tempting, but I like my bed just fine," Antonio replied easily.

"Is that an invitation?"

"Felicia! Get your cute little butt out of here and leave Antonio alone!" Feliciano exclaimed.

"Right, right~ See you, Antonio," Felicia sighed. As she left, she turned around, blew Antonio a kiss, and winked. She yelped as Feliciano, balancing two plates on one arm, smacked her on the bum as she walked by, and making them laugh.

"You and Felicia get along really good!" Antonio said as Feliciano neared the table.

"Yup, our whole family is pretty close. The Vargas family is a big one, too," Feliciano replied, setting down a steaming plate full of pasta in front of Antonio and then in front of his own seat. He walked back to the kitchen and Antonio turned in his chair, casually noting that Feliciano still had a sexy little sway to his hips.

"I have a pretty big family back in Spain. I haven't seen 'em in a while, though. Maybe I'll go back this Christmas. Christmas and Easter are big in my family," Antonio tossed nonchalantly over his shoulder.

"Catholic? Those are big for us, too." Feliciano came from the kitchen just moments later, carrying glasses, wine, and napkins. He sat down next to Antonio, but Antonio snagged the wine and poured.

"Eh, raised, baptized, all that jazz, but I really haven't gone to church since high school. Not a big deal to me," Antonio explained, with a shrug, setting aside the wine when both glasses were full. Feliciano nodded in understanding.

"I know a lot of friends like that. I consider myself pretty religious, but, well, I can't go to church anymore," Feliciano said sadly. Antonio shoveled some food in his mouth, cheeks bulging. Feliciano winced and daintily swirled some noodles on his fork.

"Eh, why not? There's Catholic churches everywhere! It's _Rome_," Antonio pointed out in confusion after gulping down his mouthful.

Feliciano paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, wide-eyed gaze on Antonio's face. He blinked a few times, then, slowly, he placed his fork down, covered his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking, as he tried his best to contain giggles. "Antonio, I'm not _completely_ joking around with all this flirting, ve! I _am_ gay. I came out when I graduated from high school."

Antonio's whole face flushed tomato-red and he grinned sheepishly, making Feliciano laugh harder. "Wow, that was really stupid of me, wasn't it?"

"And I thought only I could be that oblivious!" Feliciano exclaimed. Feliciano's laugh was so infectious and cheerful that Antonio couldn't feel uncomfortable for long. They both laughed together before changing the subject to other things and chowing down on pasta.

Feliciano rose at the end of the meal, picking up the dishes and yawning behind his elbow. Antonio, though impressed by the Feliciano's acrobatics since he didn't so much as drop a fork as he did that, quickly got to his feet and grabbed the glasses and wine and napkins. "I'll help clean up before heading home. You cooked it after all. How much will it-"

"Please, don't be insulting after such a lovely lunch," Feliciano interrupted teasingly, brown eyes twinkling. "Your company was more than enough for me."

"I feel the same, Feli! I had a great time," Antonio agreed, grinning. Feliciano blushed with pleasure. "I better help with dishes, though. If you won't take money, I'll feel bad leaving you with all the dirty work."

"You're sure you're not gay? I wouldn't mind payment in sexual favors," Feliciano joked.

"I'll let you know if I change my mind, but for now I'll stick with helping you clean up," Antonio chuckled.

"Well, I won't hear of you going home," Feliciano said as they filled a sink and pushed up their shirt sleeves. Antonio stared at him. "It's hot outside and you'll have to walk all the way home at this time of day! You'll come upstairs and nap in my apartment. I have a nice, comfy couch, Mr. No-Sexual-Favors-Or-Fun."

Antonio snickered and rinsed a plate. "I'll take you up on the couch. My flat isn't too far, but so much pasta made me sleepy. Thanks for the offer."

"Antonio," he turned at the serious tone in Feliciano's voice. The little Italian was frowning just a bit at the soapy water. "I would like to consider us friends. You're not… you're truly not uncomfortable with my teasing, _si_?"

Antonio reached over and placed his hand on Feliciano's shoulder. The shorter man jerked and turned to look up at Antonio. "I like you, too, Feli. Don't worry, I would tell you if I had enough. I'm glad you're my friend."

Feliciano's face broke into a wide, happy smile. "Ve! Fantastic! Now, I won't feel horrible when I tell you that you owe me a hundred euros for this raw silk blouse you just ruined with your wet, soapy hand!"

"_QUE?"_

.

Lovino trudged into Feliciano's apartment more than an hour after his gallery closed for the afternoon break. He was a little sweaty, irritable, and _tired_. He hated leaving his afternoon nap for so late in the afternoon, and his lunch had been cold by the time he had been able to eat it. He hated cold food and he flat-out refused to own a microwave. Leftovers were for dogs. He sighed and placed his blazer on the coatrack by Feliciano's door as he loosened his crimson-red tie. He froze, light eyes glancing towards the couch. Stretched over the entire length of the couch, with his bare feet dangling over one end, lay Antonio. The man was almost six feet tall and Feliciano had him sleeping on the couch? Lovino scoffed, kicking off his shoes. Apparently the Spaniard still had the absurd notion he was straight. After living with _Feliciano_ their entire lives, Lovino had developed a pretty good "gaydar." Antonio's "ping" made a sound equal to every church bell in Rome going off at one time.

Slowly, heat suffused Lovino's face. For some reason, he'd caught himself standing there, in the doorway, staring at the bastard. He shook his head, tearing his eyes away. Who cared if the man even _slept_ like a slob, with his shirt tossed over the back of the couch and his unbuttoned pants halfway down his bony (well, maybe not _bony_, he had more meat on him than Lovino did…) hips and bearing an _absurd_ pair of white boxers with yellow happy faces printed all over them? Lovino surely _did not_. He raised his nose in the air and made to walk across the room, only to trip over the _absurd_ rubber flipflops lying haphazardly over the floor. Antonio mumbled sleepily, then turned over, pressing his face to the back of the couch and chuckling thickly.

Lovino glared up at Antonio, mouth twitching even as he scowled and flushed hotly. _The bastard laughs in his sleep? Well, of course the clown would_, Lovino inwardly grumbled, trying not to be amused. He tossed the flipflops onto Antonio's face, smirking at Antonio's sleepy cry of shock, and made it to Feliciano's room without further mishaps. Surprisingly, Antonio hadn't woken from the shoe-to-face slapping. Lovino tried not to mentally store this fact away, but did anyway, cursing himself.

.

Antonio woke to the smell of coffee and feet. He reached up and grabbed the object lying over his face. Green eyes blinked away blurry vision until his black flipflop came into focus.

"Why are you on my face, shoe?" Antonio murmured sleepily.

He heard a loud snort followed by a peal of bright laughter. He pushed himself up onto his elbow, barely registering his other shoe falling to the floor from his shoulder, and squinted towards the kitchen nook across the doorway from the common room where he'd napped. He blinked again, sure he was seeing double. Then, the differences between the brothers sharpened and he realized he was staring at Feliciano and Lovino sitting at the tiny kitchen table, little mugs of espresso in their hands. Feliciano, of course, was the one giggling away madly. Lovino rolled his eyes.

"I threw them on your face. Better there than in the middle of the damn floor where they can trip people over, you idiot," Lovino retorted sharply, his mouth curved up into _that_ smirk. The smirk that was trying its hardest not to be amused, but obviously was. It made something burn low in Antonio's belly, but he ignored it and laughed.

"My bad, Lovi. I didn't know you were coming over, too!"

"Who the fuck said you could call me Lovi?"

"Ah, Lovi, don't get so angry. He calls me Feli already, too! He's just friendly like that. Drink up your espresso and don't be such a sourpuss, ve!" Feliciano pleaded, the laughter still in his voice. Lovino grumbled, but sipped his espresso. Feliciano turned back to Antonio, who had tossed the shoe back onto the floor. "Lovi comes over for naps between work shifts a lot. My apartment is closer than his and we both prefer sleeping together, rather than alone. Just a sorta habit, ve~"

"Speak for yourself, damn it, I can sleep by myself just fine! You're the fucking whiner here!" Lovino interrupted harshly, his face bright red. Feliciano flinched, and then chuckled. "I come over for the free lunch, damn it! Don't get any other ideas, you got that, Spaniard? It just so happens I ran late at work today. New shipment, most of it sculptures. Pain in the ass, that's what," he muttered irritably, crossing one leg over his knee.

"Ah, I see. Well, I better go clean up. Is there anymore coffee?" Antonio asked, rubbing his wild bedhead and getting to his feet. Feliciano pursed his lips to whistle, but gasped instead at Lovino's sharp kick to the knee.

"It's _espresso_, you heathen. Hurry up or I'll drink it all," Lovino snapped. Antonio laughed, grabbed his shirt from the couch, and turned to the bathroom.

Both brothers made eye contact, Feliciano grinning mischievously. "Now, _that's_ a fine butt, Lovi. Straight, gay, eighty-year-old nun, it doesn't matter. You'd have to be dead not to appreciate a butt like that. Actually, I bet even the angels fly by just for a glimpse. And all that bare skin and those muscles- Please, God, as blasphemous as this is, let that man come out the closet so I can get me some of that," Feliciano whispered, fanning himself.

"_Shut up, Feliciano!_ My God, you're embarrassing. And don't ask _God_ for something like that!" Lovino hissed, his face all red. _Not that Feli is wrong…_

"Pfftt, brother, I was born this way. I stopped being ashamed almost ten years ago. More coffee? Or would you like a wet towel to cool down those red cheeks?" Feliciano teased as he poked Lovino's cheek. Just like when they were kids, Lovino's cheeks always puffed out like a balloon when he was embarrassed and blushing. He yelped and sniffled when Lovino slapped his hand.

"_Just espresso_."

It didn't take long for Antonio to come back from the bathroom with his pants buttoned and his shirt thrown back on. He knew he still looked a little mussed up, but he had splashed his face with cold water and did other necessary things and felt a whole lot more alert. The espresso helped. The look on Lovino's and Feliciano's faces when he attempted to add sugar to his espresso, though, _that_ woke him up. It was _priceless_. They looked like he had just poured… mustard or something in his cup. Feliciano hid his horror behind his own cup quickly, but Lovino raged at him for a good five minutes about being a heathen and tasteless.

"So, Antonio," Feliciano began as Lovino huffed into his cup. Feliciano also passed around a plate of homemade biscotti liberally drizzled with chocolate. Antonio snagged one and, as he chomped down, looked to Feliciano. "I remember that you said you painted. I put a bunch of local artwork in my café downstairs. Mostly I have photographs and the like, but I do like variety. Sometimes Lovino loans me a piece and I send him the money if I sell it. How would you feel about putting one of your pieces up? I need something new to pizzazz it up, ve~"

Antonio frowned a bit, but it was Lovino who answered. "He doesn't sell, Feli." The brothers looked at one another. "He's like you were a few years back."

"Oooohh, is he? Oh, Antonio, I didn't mean to insult! I thought you'd be flattered!" Feliciano quickly explained. Lovino slapped the back of his head. "Owie! Why did you hit me!?"

"Now, you sound condescending, you idiot!"

"_Ay, ay!_ Calm down! No one's insulted. I _am_ flattered. You haven't even seen my work and you're interested, that's very nice of you. I'm glad you understand why I won't sell, but I _will_ give, Feli. You'll have to come pick something out for yourself, but if you like anything, it'll be yours. As a _gift_," Antonio replied, smiling. Feliciano lit up.

"Ve! Ve! Oh, Antonio! You're so sweet!" Feliciano cried out happily as he clapped his hands together. He frowned. "I won't possibly have time to come by, though. _Caffé Rosso_ stays open rather late. It's also Friday night. I stay open to serve wine and coffee until almost three in the morning. Lovi~~~" Feliciano whined, turning to his brother with tears on his lashes, fingers clutching at Lovino's sleeve.

"Damn it, Feli, really? It could just wait!"

"No, no, I want it for the Saturday night dancing I have! You know what I like! You're so much better at picking out pieces! You know how to make things fit so perfectly in place! Pretty pleeeeeeaaaaaasssseeee?"

"SHUT UP! FINE! JESUS CHRIST!"Lovino yelled, throwing up his hands. Feliciano cheered. From his seat, Antonio felt his belly twist into knots.

_Lovino. In his flat. Looking at his art. Lovino. In his _flat_. Lovino in his room!_ "Eh, whut?" Antonio mumbled when he realized the brothers were looking at him.

"I'll come by after work, dumbass. I need your address."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, I'll write it- um, I need a pen-"

"What are you, a fucking caveman? I have an iPhone," Lovino sneered, holding out said device. Antonio chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his head.

He left a short while before Lovino did, mentally running around in circles. He had to clean up, he should probably take a shower, all his paintings were covered up, and _Lovino was coming over to his flat!_ He shouldn't be acting like this, he was almost hyperventilating and his palms were sweating. He should buy something. Like… coffee- no, he had coffee. Flowers? What man buys flowers without a reason? Showing off his paintings was _not_ a reason for flowers. Cookies? Did Lovino like cookies? What about dinner!? Would Lovino be coming by for dinner? Antonio grabbed his hair and groaned. He should have _asked_, or _invited _him for dinner. Well, he would get stuff for dinner, something delicious, and so if Lovino _did_ expect dinner, he'd have something. Also something to drink- Italians seemed to only drink wine. Did he even have any? Well, there was that box from the last time Francis visited. Lovino didn't seem a wine-box person, though. WHY WAS THIS SO COMPLICATED?

Finally, eight 'o' clock rolled around and Antonio was slightly calmer. Lovino's gallery closed later on Fridays and Saturdays, hence the two hour wait compared to yesterday's meet up. Antonio checked to make sure the wine was chilled enough, that all his dirty clothes and dishes were hidden away somewhere, and there was a box of cookies on the counter and coffee- _espresso _brewing in his tiny machine. He munched nervously on a tomato (eating it like one normally eats an apple), and stared at the clock, foot tapping nervously. He slouched down on the tall barstool at his kitchette's bar, eyes sweeping the one-room flat. Yeah, it definitely looked tidier than usual. His huge drafting board took up most the floor space, and there was really no helping the mess _that_ was. Sighing, he glanced down and groaned. Somehow he managed to get tomato juice on his clean, white T-shirt. He got up and shuffled towards the tiny closet, rubbing his hands on his jeans as he called himself an idiot in all six languages he knew.

A knock jarred him back to his surroundings. He made it to the front door, hands on the door knob, before he even realized he'd moved. With a powerful sweep of his arm, Antonio threw the door open, taking in the sight of a flustered, tired-looking Lovino with greedy eyes.

"_Hola_, I thought you'd be a little later," Antonio greeted, hoping he didn't sound breathless. Looking at Lovino was like a punch low in the gut. He couldn't take his eyes off him.

"What the fuck? You're just going to stand there? Let me in!"

"Right! _Lo sie_- Sorry! Come in," Antonio babbled profusely, stepping back and closing the door behind Lovino.

"If it's slow enough, I close down the gallery a little early. Once word gets out I have a new shipment, I'll be up to my neck in collectors, but for now, most my patrons are off snozzing and rubbing elbows with rich elite business men and the like. I hope you have something to eat in this… _closet_. I came straight here to get it over with," Lovino said, curling his lip at the unmade bed and the tiny proportions of the room. "Is that rat's nest where you sleep at?"

"Yeah, that's my bed-" Antonio began, already heading towards the cupboards where his recently purchased groceries lay. Lovino cut him off with a slicing motion of his hand.

"_That_ is not a bed. That is a pile of blankets on a _mattress_ on the _floor_. Do not insult beds everywhere," Lovino said snidely, perching up on a barstool. "And that's espresso I smell, I hope?"

"Ah, yes. I made it for you. I had some of my own, but I thought you'd like something different than what I normally drink. It's the same brand I saw at Feli's."

Lovino gaped at him, those beautiful amber eyes wide as Antonio set the little mug down. A picture of a kitty peered from the mug's surface. Antonio had put the one with the penis on it (courtesy of Gilbert and Francis a couple birthdays ago) in the _far back_ of the cup cabinet.

"Whatcha staring at, Lovi? Oh, the tomato, right. I meant to change my shirt," Antonio licked his fingers and scrubbed at his shirt, blushing brightly. Lovino reached out and grabbed Antonio's wrist. With a large amount of sheer will power, Antonio restrained the shudder Lovino's touch caused.

"No, not that damn tomato stain, slob though you are. You… bought a bag of coffee for me?" Lovino murmured. Antonio smiled, delighted at the shock and pleasure in Lovino's voice. That slight hint of a blush was too adorable for words.

"_Si_. You seem like someone who likes things just so, am I right? I want you to feel welcome here. Ah, and I got stuff for dinner, 'cause I wasn't sure if you _were_ gonna eat here, smart, right?" Lovino's hand fell away and Antonio wandered back to the cupboards. "I normally only have bread and milk and tomatoes, I always have tomatoes, but I got stuff for paella. Have you had paella? It's my favorite. I'm a really good cook, promise," Antonio rattled on.

He was too busy chatting away to notice how bright the blush became on Lovino's face as he sipped at his espresso. Nor did he notice the slight curve of Lovino's lips into a truly glad smile. Dinner went smoothly, in fact, Lovino didn't even complain about it- he didn't compliment it, either, but hey, it was a start. When Antonio tipped the empty plates into the sink, Lovino picked up his glass of wine and got to his feet.

"So, where are these paintings of yours? I need to get home eventually."

"Yeah, they're in the other room."

"The other room?" Lovino repeated incredulously, eyebrows lifting high as Antonio came around the kitchen bar counter and led him across the cramped, tiny flat. "If you have another room, why the hell do you shove everything in here?"

"Sometimes I need more room than just my drafting board while I draw up building plans. And I like having a place just to draw or paint without everything… everything else, you know?" Antonio tried to explain.

There was a sliding metal door in the wall that Lovino had figured to be welded shut long ago to make another apartment on the other side. Instead, Antonio heaved it open rather easily and stepped inside. Lovino followed him, a little warily because the room on the other side was pitch dark. He glanced around, scowling and taking a sip of wine as Antonio fumbled around next to him.

"Here it is!" Antonio crowed, a small flick sounding moments later. The room flooded with harsh, white light and Lovino cussed aloud and covered his face. "Sorry! I forgot how bright those florescents are! I haven't been in here after dark- well, ever, really, in a while."

"Jesus Christ, you're such a moron," Lovino muttered blinking away bright spots from his vision. When he could finally see, his eyes widened in shock. Canvasses on canvasses were stacked in the room almost equal in size of rest of the flat. There were tarps covered in paint and oils scattered and piled on the floor. Large blue and white scrolls leaned in the corners, obviously discarded building plans. He set the glass of wine down on the ground and drifted into the room, breath stolen. "You're a fucking artist. These are _amazing_, Antonio," Lovino breathed, picking up a picture of green-eyed girl with two long pigtails laughing as she swung high in the air.

"That's Rosa. My little sister. I have lots of my family. When I miss them, I paint them," Antonio told Lovino, leaning against the wall by the doorway and blushing faintly. "Thanks for the compliment."

"Not a compliment," Lovino muttered setting down the laughing girl and going towards a crayon picture of tulips. "Fact. It's a fucking _fact_. These are genius. I don't know if I hate you or love you right now. You _sure_ you won't sell?"

"Sure. But I'll give. If you see something you want, you can take it. I always give my pictures away to friends if they like 'em. Bella's got one."

"The- the ocean picture… _that picture of a beach in Greece?_ That was _yours._"

"Yeah, Greece was nice. Bella all but stole it when she saw it!" Antonio laughed. Lovino stared at him over his shoulder before moving on.

"I think that tulip one is great for Feli's café, the reds and yellows would go perfect, of course, and that blue sky will definitely make it pop, but… you don't mind if I keep looking, right?" Lovino asked hesitantly. Antonio shrugged, grinning.

"Some of those in there are terrible, though. I've been carting and shipping all these around for years. My mom even sent me some when I first moved out here, so I have some from high school and grade school. If you see any macaroni posters, those are some of my firsts!"

Lovino laughed, his whole face lighting up. Antonio stared at him, stunned down to his toes. If pretty pictures made Lovino look like _that_, he'd paint the man a _museum_. He watched Lovino move among the canvasses, murmuring and gasping and cussing as he went. He couldn't take his eyes off the Italian. He watched each movement, each bend of his waist, each stretch of his arms with those same greedy eyes he'd had when he saw Lovino at his front door. It was amazing that just within the past hour he'd gone from that bedraggled, exhausted-looking young man on his doorstep to this light-hearted smiling man, almost boyishly delighted as he searched among the pictures. Antonio had never enjoyed watching someone so much and watching people is what Antonio _did_. The majority of his pictures were of people- family, strangers, friends, old lovers, even some commissions he'd kept the rough drafts of. He frowned as Lovino stilled and dropped to his knees near the far back of the room. What was he- Antonio's eyes widened and he rushed through the chaotic aisles of canvasses. His heart sank when he saw what pictures Lovino was gazing at.

_London_…

There was a pale shoulder and arm, the light dusting of freckles almost invisible under the harsh light and a darker hand _Antonio's hand_ placed on that slender arm. He could almost feel that smooth skin again and he repressed a shiver. Then, a picture of a pale hand over a darker one _Antonio's hand_ fingers entwined and twisted into cream-colored sheets. Lovino picked up a rolled parchment before Antonio could get his bearings back and unrolled it. A rough pencil sketch of a young man smirking, ridiculously bushy eyebrows raised high. The only colored part was his eyes, a bright clear green that Antonio could never get right. Glimpses of a time he tried to forget. Could Lovino tell… Could Lovino guess?

"Who is this?" Lovino murmured, looking back at the first two canvasses. Both were made with oil pastels instead of paint. Antonio knew there was a painting somewhere of the Thames and a bench… a bench where he'd met him.

"London."

"Excuse me." Lovino's stare bored into his.

"Someone I met in London. I don't like talking about it." For once, Antonio's voice was low and serious and Lovino dropped it, only gazing back at the pictures.

"I want these two."

Antonio felt as though he had been slapped. Out of everything in the room- "Why those two?"

"Because I like them. They're edgy and intimate and the play of light and shadow, the darker tones of the skin on the lighter, it's a visual orgasm," Antonio winced at the choice of word, "I would like to sell them."

"I can't-"

"I know. So I'll take them and have them stagnate in a closet somewhere until I find sufficient blackmail on you. I'll take the tulips for Feli, too. You sure you don't want to be paid?" Lovino double-checked, amber eyes flicking over to Antonio's face.

"Uh- well, actually… I was wondering…" Antonio trailed off. He hadn't meant to say that! What was he about to ask- "Could I… could I draw you? You could come back a couple days in the week and it's just until I get something I want to paint, not too long," Antonio blurted out, horrified at his words as they tumbled off his lips. Lovino's face was impossible to read, but he didn't look… angry.

"What." Lovino replied with a completely deadpanned voice. Antonio felt sweat break out on his forehead and his face flushed hotly.

"I started a few sketches and I was hoping I could paint something. You saw all those portraits. I love drawing people-"

"Why me?" Lovino interrupted harshly. Antonio blinked and rubbed the back his head.

"Because there's something… irresistible about you. I keep wanting to draw it, but I can't get it right and it's driving me insane. Please?" Antonio tacked on his plea at the end as Lovino got to his feet. "That's all I ask in return for the pictures you take."

"Just… pictures of me… Do you want me to come by and pose or something?" Lovino asked, shuffling a little awkwardly and keeping his eyes on the floor.

"No. I just want you to be yourself. You can yell me about my coffee, eat lunch, or even take a nap. _No_ posing. I want to draw you being you, that's the point."

Lovino's whole face flushed, but he nodded slowly. "Sure… no one's ever asked me to model before. It's weird. _You're_ fucking weird," he finally snapped, his soft, shy voice returning to his usual brisk one. His eyes cut at Antonio, scowling fiercely. Antonio grinned.

"Maybe no one else would be stupid enough to try and draw you," Lovino opened his mouth furiously, but Antonio continued on, trying to explain, "I mean, it'll be tough to match the art to the model."

Antonio's breath left in a whoosh as Lovino's palm smacked into the middle of his chest. Lovino stomped past him, his hair hiding his face. He stopped at the doorway, his hand laying on the doorjamb and he half-glanced over his shoulder. "I'll send some of my workers over for my oils and the tulips around nine a.m. Have them ready. I'll be by on Sunday after Mass."

Antonio stared after him, flabbergasted, a dazed smile on his face as he rubbed his chest. It wasn't long before the front door slammed. Maybe Lovino thought he was being complimented by Antonio's request, but really it was downright selfishness on Antonio's part. He just wanted more time- more and more and more time- looking at Lovino, _being_ with Lovino.

When did he become so greedy?


	3. Lust

_Kitty: All right. So I should probably work on this now. *shot* Just fyi, I have a vlog going on that gives spoilers and discusses what's going on with HFT (Hetalia Fairy Tales) and all my stories. If you're interested, visit my profile. I have all my online information there, except for my emails and skype, I believe… maybe I have skype up, I dunno. ON WITH THE SHOW!_

_**NOTE:**__ If you see grammatical errors in Antonio's speech, __**it is on purpose**__. That's how he speaks. Same with any and all dialogue. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Rated M for foul language, adult situations, and religious issues. There is a picture of "Chibitalia" described. I do not own the idea. I see it a lot in music videos. Y'all are going to hate me for this one. _

Seven Sins

Chapter Three

Lust

Antonio was perched on his stool, wearing an ugly, loose smock and jeans shorts long frayed and cut so short his pockets fell out the bottom. He was frowning in concentration at the easel in front of himself, paintbrush in hand and wet and dry paint all over his face, hands, and smock. He dabbed his brush in the smeared mixture of color on the plastic paint tray he held and added just a bit more to the canvas. Blinking, he sat back, paintbrush loose in his grip, paint tray sloping downwards unconsciously.

"That's it, then," Antonio decided firmly.

It had been about five weeks since Lovino had agreed to be painted. True to Antonio's word, he'd let Lovino do whatever he wanted instead of just sit somewhere. The first time, Lovino had awkwardly wandered around the flat, keeping in Antonio's line of sight, and chattering about nothing, just to drop off into confused silence. He rifled through building plans and contracts on Antonio's work desk, kicked at dirty clothes on the floor, and laughed at the tomatoes outside Antonio's window. He bitched at Antonio for leaving dirty dishes in the sink and not having any snacks to eat. By the end of the first visit, Antonio thought Lovino wouldn't come. But come back he had, blushing a little, with snacks he bought and papers from work under one arm. Lovino came by twice the first week, then three times the second week, then almost every night for the next three weeks. Antonio had no idea what kept Lovino coming, and so often, but he had refused to ask. He didn't want to point it out and have the contrary Italian refuse to come ever again.

Antonio had started work on the painting before the fourth day of Lovino's visits, but kept it hidden in the art room. Though, Lovino had traversed through the room again, taking his time and discussing with Antonio the various places and reasons for the pieces, he'd ignored the tarp covered easels. Lovino made dinner half the time he was over, shocking Antonio, but he really cooked just as well as Feliciano- and was really bad with the praise afterwards. Whenever Antonio wasn't sketching, they would just… talk. They talked about their pasts, their families, their careers. On Sundays, when Lovino came just in time for lunch, Antonio would drag him out into the city first. Antonio knew the city pretty well after five years of living there, but Lovino took him around to places he hadn't yet gotten to see, or hadn't made time to "enjoy properly" as Lovino put it. Not only did they share love of tomatoes, but they had similar tastes in most foods and often shared a short lunch or dinner as they wandered the Roman streets and alleys.

All in all, it had been a fantastic five weeks. Antonio told himself it was because he had made such a great new friend. Despite Lovino's prickliness and cussing, he was… he was…

Antonio sighed and began to put everything away.

Lovino was _everything_. That was the only thing Antonio could think. He had folders full of pictures, but only the real person was enough. He had to hear Lovino speaking, laughing, cussing; he had to see him frowning and smirking and raising those perfectly arched eyebrows; he had to smell the faint scent of cologne and espresso and silk and skin, see the sun gleam on his hair, the curving shadow of his lashes on his cheek. He liked to see Lovino enjoy each bite of pasta, each sip of espresso, every lick of gelato and see him rage over mess and disorder like it was a sin to be a slob. Antonio loved the look on Lovino's eyes when he saw something beautiful, when he walked through Antonio's art room, or saw street painters as they wandered through Rome.

Lovino was the last thing Antonio thought of when he went to bed, the first image as he woke, and he was always lurking in that misty in between as he slept. He was greedy for every moment with Lovino and jealous of every moment without. He was going crazy. He _was_ crazy. Antonio didn't even care. As long as he could see Lovino it didn't matter.

He was in his bathroom, rinsing out his brushes when he looked up into the mirror. He blinked, startled. Normally, his mirror was spotty with water drops and random spots of toothpaste from when he brushed his teeth. It was perfectly clean now, though. He glanced around and noticed that all his bathroom things were in their places and that all the surfaces were gleaming and clean. Even the toilet had lost that usual grey ring in the bowl he always told himself to scrub and never did. He stepped back and hit the wall, laughing as he ran his hand in his hair.

_Lovino_. The man had _cleaned Antonio's bathroom_ the day before. Antonio had been working on a blueprint for his job while Lovino was over and, apparently, while he had been occupied, Lovino had scrubbed the little closet of a room within an inch of its existence. Antonio could picture him doing it, too, completely with rolled sleeves and low, angry cussing.

"_Mierda, mierda!_" Antonio seethed. _This can't be happening. Not again. _

He pushed himself from the wall and grabbed his wet brushes. He wasn't going to sit here and wallow. Antonio hated wallowing. He hated thinking about things that upset him, too, or things that confused him. What was the point of dwelling on things you didn't understand or couldn't change? Philosopher, Antonio was _not_. So he packed away all his supplies before changing into some decently clean jeans and a _La Roja_ jersey. He figured Lovino might kick him out of the gallery if he walked in with his usual t-shirt, but a futbol jersey? Even Lovino, an avid futbol fan himself, would turn a blind eye to this. Unless he kicked him out for representing Spain after the FIFA win this past month. Antonio chuckled, but left the jersey on. An angry Lovino was a fun Lovino, to Antonio's thinking.

He carefully placed the tarp over the portrait and, just as carefully, lifted it up. It took a bit of finagling, but he got it out of the apartment without disturbing it. Instead of walking as he normally would, he flagged down a taxi to Lovino's gallery. He was dropped off just minutes later (Italian drivers were insane), and, after paying the taxi driver, he walked up to the glass doors. This was his first time at the gallery and he tried to ignore the sudden nervousness. He used his butt to push the door open and spun around slowly into the cool, air-conditioned atrium. It was big and airy with the muted colors of the sunset flooding in through the windows. A perfectly round counter sat in the center of the atrium, and Antonio could see past it to the sculptures and partitions holding up paintings. A few paintings hung straight down from the ceiling on transparent wires, though none of the paintings that Antonio could see were in the direct sunlight. The lights were bright, but not harsh like the lights in Antonio's studio room. A few potted plants sat in decorative urns by the doors and the counter. A young woman at the counter looked up and then scowled. She was pretty Italian girl dressed very smart in a pantsuit.

"Excuse me, sir, but the gallery is closing in a few moments…" she told him, her lips curling at his sandals and jeans. He merely grinned at her.

"I know. I'm here to see Lovi. It's a private thing," Antonio tried to explain, chuckling awkwardly with his hands still full of his painting. He really hoped the paint hadn't smeared under the tarp. He hadn't given those final touches much time to dry…

"Lovi? You must mean _Mr. Vargas_?" she clarified, one eyebrow rising.

"_Si_,_ senorita_, Ah- I mean, miss," he corrected himself using Italian. He was really feeling nervous if even simple words were switching into Spanish.

"I see. I will ring him up," she finally acquiesced. She picked up a phone and punched in a few numbers. After a few beats, he must've picked up. "Mr. Vargas, there is a man here in the atrium for you. He says he's here on a private matter and… well, sir, he's wearing _a Spain jersey and jeans_. Yes, sir, I said Spain. Well, he's holding a wrapped canvas- sir?" she blinked and set the phone back in its cradle. "Apparently he is on his way now."

"Yeah, he knows who I am. You shouldn't of told him about the jersey. Now, it won't be a surprise," Antonio joked. He heard Lovino's brisk pace before he saw him. He turned towards the sound, grinning.

"Antonio! You idiot! You should have called! Lucia, shut down and leave. There aren't any more people here so you can go," he told her abruptly. She nodded, apparently used to his harsh wording, and began doing whatever she needed to do.

"If I called it wouldn't be a surprise. Dontcha like surprises, Lovi?" Antonio chirped. Lovino rolled his eyes.

"I don't like surprises at _work_. That better be a fucking masterpiece in your arms," Lovino snapped.

"Well, since you know the subject, you know it has to be," Antonio teased, eyes twinkling mischievously. Lovino's whole face burned tomato-red.

"Shut the hell up. Follow me. I'll take you to my office," Lovino clipped out, turning on his heel. "Oh, Lucia, lock up, too. I don't know how long I'll be."

"Of course, Mr. Vargas. Oh, your phone calls from this afternoon-"

"They're handled. Thank you."

Antonio trotted after Lovino, frowning a bit. Was Lovino seriously angry with him for showing up? He liked to push Lovino's buttons a little, but he didn't seriously like _pissing him off_. There was a difference. He caught up with Lovino's rapid pace.

"Lovi, are you angry? I didn't mean to," Antonio cajoled with a contrite smile on his face. Lovino glanced up, and Antonio caught those flaming red cheeks, and his smile became a grin. _Nope, my little Italian is still embarrassed_, he thought cheerfully.

"I'm not angry, you dope," Lovino snapped, concurring with Antonio's conclusion. He slowed to a stop and scowled up at the Spaniard. "I wasn't fucking expecting you. I thought you would show me at your damn house, not show up _here_."

"Well, I finished it today and I had to show you. You'll like it, I promise," Antonio swore, still cheerful and carefree. Lovino grumbled under his breath. "Can I look around a bit, first?"

"What? Uh, yeah, sure. We're in abstract," Lovino informed after a quick glance around. "If you want to see something more your style they're this way," he said motioning Antonio after him.

Antonio followed, glancing around and whistling softly. All the art was amazing. The ceramics and sculptures tucked in corners or displayed in key places on the floor, the mesh of colors and styles that never seem to overwhelm or jar each other. Lovino definitely was a master of art and interior design. How strange that his natural talent hadn't flowed over into actual technique and practice.

"Here, Antonio. You'll like this one," Lovino said suddenly. Antonio looked over at him and blinked. Lovino smirked at his face.

On the wall was a little girl in field of flowers, a wreath of them on her head and a bouquet in her hands. She was smiling so happily, reaching out to gift someone only she could see with the blossoms in her hand. It was done in watercolors, giving it a hazy, soft look. In another picture nearby, made by the same hand, Antonio could tell, were those same flowers, fallen in a bundle, wrapped with a faded blue ribbons, alone on a white background. The flowers had lost a number of petals that lay scattered around like discarded confetti.

"The first is a self-portrait," Lovino spoke softly as he stood next to Antonio. "The artist is someone you know well," he added.

"You?" Antonio asked stupidly. Lovino punched his ribs, making him wince.

"I wish. No. My brother."

"Feli? Feli painted these? They're beautiful. I thought… I thought that was a girl, though…" Antonio mused. Lovino chuckled.

"My mother had always wanted a daughter and had all kinds of clothes for the daughter she never had. Feliciano found them when he was very small and said he liked them. My mother used to dress him up and they'd dance. Sometimes, my mother would put on my father's clothes and we'd all play house dressed like that. I _never_ wore girls' clothes, just so you know, but I would play along with them," Lovino hurriedly assured him, abruptly forcing away the peaceful, happy smile he had been wearing.

Antonio looked back at the picture. "Why watercolors? And why the dying flowers in the next one?"

Lovino sighed. "My mother and father died when we were barely eight and nine. My brother would wear those old dresses and run out to hide from our family. They reminded him so fucking much of her…" he broke off, slowly, thickly. "We bounced around our family for a while before we ended up with our grandfather. One day, he came back, saying he found a little boy to play with. He fucking _begged_ me to help him out so he could go back and for about… I don't know, two or three weeks, he went out and played with that damn boy. Then one day, he went, and came back, crying, because the boy was gone. And he never saw him again. Feli said he wasn't Italian and he spoke it funny, and he'd never heard the accent since. As to why watercolors, you'll have to ask Feli, though I can guess why."

Antonio gazed back at that picture sadly. "You can see how happy he is. This is how he remembers feeling then… with that boy…"

"Yes. Come on, let's go."

"You don't approve," Antonio said without moving. Lovino sighed again.

"You mean about Feli being gay," Lovino stated. "No… No, I don't think I do."

"But you hang his art, despite the fact they are about his love for another boy," Antonio questioned. Lovino looked away.

"I love my brother. Despite my feelings, I love him and always will. Not only that, but his art and my personal feelings are neither one nor the other. His art is beautiful and they have meaning. They make people _feel_. It would be a damn shame- and complete waste of something special- not to share this," Lovino explained. Antonio blinked.

"Art means a lot to you."

"Of course it fucking does! It's my _life_, dumbass," Lovino retorted. "Now, come to the office with that shit so I can get it over with."

Antonio followed, his brows furrowed. Lovino made for the other side of the gallery, where a dark, wooden door stood between a potted tree and an abstract sculpture of pink marble. He entered the office behind Lovino, who snapped the door shut behind him. That blush was back as he stomped over to his desk and perched on it. He crossed his arms and scowled at Antonio, as if he weren't blushing like a schoolgirl.

"Well, let's see the damn thing," Lovino ordered brusquely.

Antonio set it on the chair by his hip. It took a moment, because he didn't want to smudge anything, but he unwrapped it, sighing in relief. Nothing had smeared or ruined. Lovino's arms fell to his side, his eyes wide.

"When… when did you…"

"Not too long after you started coming over, remember, when you saw the cat outside?" Antonio replied.

It was picture of Lovino perched on the little balcony, his arms resting on the iron railing, and his head on his arms. The tomato plants seemed to wave right in front of him, and the late afternoon sunlight made his skin and dark hair gleam gold. He was sleeping, his face entirely relaxed, his long legs hanging over the windowsill into the apartment, his feet bare under his grey slacks that had pulled up over his knees to expose his ankles. His white silk blouse was falling out of the waist of his pants and his black vest was hanging loosely around his torso. He looked peaceful, tousled, and outrageously sexy all at once.

"You… you painted that…" Lovino whispered. "That's how you see me…"

"Every time I look at you. Even when you're all tucked in and frowning, I remember seeing you like this," Antonio chuckled.

"Not, not just that…" Lovino disagreed, shaking his head. "You made me… captivating. Like… some sort of unconscious siren…"

Antonio rubbed the back of his neck before replying, "You are. To me, I mean. I've drawn you a thousand times, and painted you about a dozen, this is just the one I liked the best, so you know, but even after all that, I can't help but want more." Lovino stared at him, mouth gaping. Antonio shrugged and set the portrait down on the floor, leaning it against the chair. "I was thinking that maybe it wouldn't be so bad. If you sold my paintings, I mean. If I could trust anyone with my pictures, it would be you. To you, they aren't pieces of canvas smeared with paint. You wouldn't let just anyone take them," he broke off, realizing he was rambling and Lovino was still staring at him.

"You trust me with that?" Lovino finally blurted after a few moments of awkward silence.

"Well, yeah. Besides, you trusted me to draw you. It's only fair, right?" Antonio pointed out, grinning widely. Lovino shook his head.

"You're so fucking different than what I expected," he muttered. Antonio stepped closer.

"_Que?_ What's that mean?"

Lovino glared at him. "You act like a fucking idiot all the time, but you actually aren't that fucking stupid, are you?"

Antonio blinked and then laughed. "I'm not? I think I'm pretty stupid."

"You're not. You just act like it. Well, you're pretty fucking stupid, but you're not as stupid as you act. You… you _see_ people. Most people, hell, even my own _family_ can't see me like you do. And we've known each other barely more than a damn month," Lovino grumbled irritably, his face becoming redder and redder as he spoke. He flinched as Antonio's hand touched his cheek.

Antonio froze, inwardly panicking. He hadn't meant to touch him. Really, he hadn't even meant to get this close. But he was close, so close their knees brushed and he was leaning over Lovino. Slowly, hesitantly, he laid his palm to Lovino's cheek, fingertips brushing his earlobe and jaw. Smooth skin, warm to touch, red and flushed beneath his hand. Lovino's lips were parted slightly, eyes a little glassy and breathing suddenly uneven. Antonio felt his own heart beating rapidly in his ears. Such a simple touch, so small, so gentle, and he was already shaking. He gulped once, his eyes on Lovino's as he leaned closer, his other hand touching Lovino's knee. There was a soft release of breath, not quite a gasp, from the younger man and his amber eyes began to fall. They didn't quite close, but fastened onto Antonio's mouth. Still trembling, Antonio increased the pressure of his hand and stroked upwards on Lovino's thigh, the silk slacks catching in the creases of his hand, the heat of Lovino's skin almost burning.

They were so close, he could feel Lovino's breath on his mouth and chin. He tilted Lovino's head back, meeting that glassy amber gaze once more through the tangled film of lashes. Then, finally, he let his mouth fall over Lovino's. And Lovino didn't push him away. Instead, his arms reached up to grasp Antonio's jersey and pull him down closer. They fell over the desk, their knees parting so Antonio could press closer, straddling Lovino's thigh. Their lips parted briefly so both could gasp air desperately. But their mouths meshed again, tongues tangling as hands began to grope over cloth, pulling Lovino's shirt from the waistband of his slacks and pulling up Antonio's to expose his stomach. Antonio shuddered as Lovino's fingers trailed up his chest, fingers splayed over the firm skin covering muscle and bone, sweeping over every ridge and bump until his palms were on his pecs, one right over his wildly beating heart.

He was getting desperate now. His shaking hands somehow managed to pull Lovino's belt free and fling it somewhere. Lovino yanked his mouth away, startled at the sound, so Antonio pressed his damp lips to Lovino's neck, sucking in the skin until he heard Lovino moan. The subtle pressure against his pants wasn't enough, so he pressed his hips forward, rubbing his erection against Lovino's.

"_Shit_, wait-" Lovino gasped, fingernails digging into skin as his hips automatically moved with Antonio's. He was cut off when Antonio yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. They stared at each other another moment, both panting and beaded with sweat on their foreheads. Antonio leaned back down, grasping Lovino's legs behind the knees to wrap them around his waist. Lovino bit down on his lip, brows furrowing, as Antonio placed a kiss to his jaw, just below his ear.

"L-Lovi, don't tell me to stop, please," Antonio whispered. Lovino's fingers flexed, but he still didn't pull away.

"I should…" Lovino muttered back, arching his neck so Antonio could trail his neck down to his collarbone.

"But don't."

"I… I won't," Lovino breathed softly.

.

A while later, they gathered up their clothes in an awkward silence, unable to meet each other's eyes as they dressed. Antonio finished first and went over to pick up the portrait.

"Wh-" he cleared his throat quickly, "Where do you want this?"

Lovino looked up from tying on his shoes, his cheeks still red. He stared at the picture. "My house."

"Ah, so… I should wrap it. Do you need help taking it?" Antonio asked uncomfortably. Lovino scowled, glancing away.

"Yes, damn it. You're going home with me tonight. I'm fucking starving, so you're going to cook me dinner."

Antonio gaped at him, before breaking into a large grin. "Yeah, I can do that!"

"Why the hell couldn't you? You haven't anything else to do in that slobby apartment of yours?" Lovino snapped, getting to his feet and walking around his desk.

"Um, no, not really," Antonio conceded, trying not to laugh. He watched, bemused, as Lovino pulled out some sanitizer spray. He was blushing brightly while he wiped down his desk as Antonio burst out laughing

"Shut the fuck up. You ready to go?" he demanded, tossing the rag and spray back into their drawer.

"Yeah, let's go," Antonio gasped.

As they left, Lovino stopped to check that all the lights were off and to set the alarm, before locking it up for the night. They turned towards the street. Antonio tucked the re-wrapped portrait under his arm, then, reached out to clasp Lovino's hand. After what happened in the office, it wasn't quite that intimate a touch, but it still made Lovino jump. Antonio merely whistled and entwined their fingers. They walked to Lovino's apartment, hand in hand.

Lovino's apartment was exactly as Antonio expected. Two bedrooms and two bath with a large living area and kitchen separated by a granite-topped counter. The floors were a high-polished hardwood warmed with thick, dark- and crème- colored rugs. The lamps and light fixtures all had decorative glass shades or stainless steel sconces, the appliances were gleaming stainless steel as well. Other than the missing microwave, Lovino had almost everything a restaurant might have, only on a smaller scale. They didn't talk about what happened the rest of the night, but when dinner was over and the dishes washed, Lovino led Antonio to his room.

They went slowly the second time, as if trying to savor each moment. And even after Lovino had fallen asleep, curling against Antonio side and tucked under his arm, Antonio lay awake. It was still burning under his skin- that need for Lovino. As amazing as each time had been, he still couldn't wait for the next. He wanted to spend every day and night here, in bed, making love to Lovino. He wanted to fall asleep next to him and wake up the next morning with him and he couldn't think of any time he wouldn't want that. He was sinking hard and fast. His desire for Lovino wasn't ebbing at all, but only increased each moment. Antonio pressed his nose to Lovino's hair, breathed in the sweet scent of his shampoo, and stroked the younger man's side from his shoulder to his hip, marveling at the smooth, soft feel of his skin.

One time, two times, a hundred times- this desire wasn't going to burn out any time soon. And Antonio stopped caring.


	4. Gluttony

_Kitty: All right. This was another chapter long in the coming. Crap. I'm so slow. I was sitting in Beijing Capital Airport writing this author note. So cool. Now, however, I'm in Korea. =w=b_

… _this took WAY too long to write when, as soon as I sat down, I finished it in one night. Bloody hell. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Rated M for adult content, including language and situations. Beware the angst. It begins._

Seven Sins

Chapter Four

Gluttony

Have you ever been so hungry that your belly seemed to gnaw on itself, growling and demanding for anything? Or so hungry that you never wanted to stop eating? Just putting a piece of gum in your mouth made you salivate like eating the sweetest dessert. Or maybe… have you ever been hungry for _one specific_ thing? No matter what you ate in its stead, it wasn't enough. You still felt hungry for that _one thing_ and nothing was satisfying until you had it? You craved and craved, and maybe you finally got it. That first bite was like the sweetest rapture and everything was sublime and perfect in the world with each bite. But then, it's gone. And you're still hungry for more. Maybe it'll take two or three more times before you're finally satisfied.

But what if, no matter how many times you had it, it still wasn't enough? You were still _so damn hungry_ for that thing.

Antonio felt that hunger. Each time he looked at Lovino, each stolen kiss that was sweeter than the last, with every word burned into his mind, with every touch branded on his skin. Still he wanted- no, _needed_ more. He didn't want their clandestine meetings, their hidden words and touches. He wanted to walk down the street with Lovino in the middle of the day, holding hands, laughing with him, smiling at him, and it would be all right. He wanted to tell everyone about this fabulous person he had managed to find, to catch, to keep all to himself.

He couldn't. Every time the urge struck him, he would have to rein it in. He had reined it in so deeply, so tightly, it _physically hurt_ when he thought about it. He hated that it was something _wrong_, something _secret. _Antonio didn't do secrets. He was terrible with secrets. He hated lying and everything about their relationship was a lie.

Except for those silent moments when Antonio looked at Lovino and finally admitted the truth. He was falling _hard_ for Lovino and there was no stopping it. Even the stupidest things, even the things that managed to irritate Antonio, had him falling more and more in love with the sassy, foul-mouthed Italian. He had no idea how he managed to get Lovino into his bed (or, well, vice versa), but that's where he wanted Lovino to stay.

Antonio leaned back against the iron railing of his balcony, petting the cat that often came by and frowning a bit.

It was getting harder to be around Lovino. He didn't like to admit it, but it was true. There were so many things he wanted to talk about, to ask Lovino, but he was worried about saying the wrong thing and losing the tenuous relationship they had.

He also hadn't met up with Bella in weeks. She texted him now and then, but he managed to evade meeting with her this entire time. It made his gut burn and left him feeling rather sick and dirty. Lyinglyinglyinglies. The idea of speaking to anyone was becoming disgusting to him. How could he look anyone in the face and pretend he was the same man he was just barely two months ago? How could he pretend he wasn't having an affair with his friend's _boy_friend? How could he pretend he wasn't aching, wasn't dirty, wasn't lying? He woke up sweating and muscles tight too many times to count, nightmares of accusing eyes and whispers. He hadn't spoken to his family in weeks, sure they'd hear it in his voice, sure he'd give it away. He never had been good at keeping secrets, especially not with Mama_. _

He had to get out of here. He had to get out of this apartment. Lovino was in every corner. And yet he _wasn't_ and that made it worse. Antonio hated how Lovino haunted him, how much he _needed_ and _wanted_ Lovino there, despite everything. He was cracking. The past three days he hadn't opened his post, hadn't checked his email, hadn't answered his phone unless it was Lovino's name. Antonio hadn't even opened the door for anyone who knocked. Lovino had long had the spare key, so he never knocked anymore.

Antonio all but jumped to his feet, pacing the floor and running his hands through his hair. Where could he go? Where could he lose himself for just an hour? Just laugh and joke and be all right again?

In a flash, a mischievous smile and gentle brown eyes leapt into his mind. Maybe it wasn't exactly divorcing himself from Lovino, but _Caffé Rosso_ just seemed like the only place to go. He shoved his feet into his sandals, not even caring what he was wearing, and ran out the door, only taking time to grab his keys, though he forgot to lock the door behind himself. Thanks to his out-of-character hermitage, he never saw the emails waiting for him. He never saw the letter near the bottom of the pile of unopened mail.

.

Antonio was at _Caffé Rosso_ without even realizing he'd walked that far. Time was becoming faulty now. Not that he had ever been _great_ at keeping track of time or even caring, but now hours would pass without him even remembering what had happened. The café was filled with people, all getting late lunches or early dinners, a glass of wine or a cup of espresso at every table. The smell of cheese, olive oil, and tomatoes made his stomach rumble and he realized he hadn't yet eaten that day. No… that wasn't good. How long had he been sitting on his balcony with that cat?

"Heya~ Antonio, right? Haven't seen you around in a while," a cheerful, feminine voice chirped from just a little to his right. Antonio turned, blinking rapidly, and saw Felicia manning the hostess podium. Her sparkling brown eyes suddenly darkened as her brows lowered. "Antonio, are you all right? You seem a little out of it," she inquired, her voice now concerned.

Antonio grinned wide and goofy. "Yeah, well, that's me. A total space case. I'm totally starving. Is there any room for me?"

"Of course there is! You're a friend of my uncle! Feli would actually _scold_ me if I made you wait or let you leave without letting him know. Why don't you go upstairs and relax and I'll tell Feli you're here? I'll bring you up something delicious," Felicia offered brightly.

"Anything from Feliciano's kitchen would be delicious. I would really appreciate it. I'm not here for a free meal, though. I'll pay," Antonio told her quickly. Felicia shook her head.

"I'll leave that to uncle to decide. Just to warn you, though, I doubt he'll let you pay. Especially not when you're looking… well… like… _this_," Felicia murmured, eying him once more with her worried gaze. Antonio looked down and blushed beet red. Suddenly he wished he'd cared more about what he was wearing. He'd left his house in his paint shorts and an old, dirty tank top, long stained by sweat and grass. He was pretty sure the tank top was from his football days in high school.

"Right… I'll just go up before all the other Italians in here notice me…" Antonio muttered. Felicia giggled.

"I think table five is mentally burning you in effigy. Run for it, love," she suggested with a wink. He grinned at her and backed out of the building. Taking the fire escape up to the second floor seemed like the better idea than cutting across the crowded restaurant.

The glass door leading from the balcony into the little kitchenette was thankfully unlocked- and also left ajar. Most likely, Feliciano left it open to keep the air fresh; being right above a restaurant tended to leave Feliciano's apartment stuffy and in a perpetual state of cooking pasta, otherwise. Antonio glanced around, noticed its spic-and-span interior, and grinned guiltily. Lovino hadn't been by his flat in a while, so his own home was a total wreck. Seeing such a tiny, adorable apartment so well kept made him once again mentally promise to take better care of his own. He liked walking into a clean home, _really_. He just never bothered to do it often enough.

He brewed up some espresso, filled a mug with hot water to make his lazy version of an Americano before flooding it with milk and sugar, and then threw himself on Feliciano's couch. As he wondered what sort of present he could get Feliciano for exchange, since Felicia was right and Feli probably wouldn't let him pay for dinner _or_ the coffee he'd just helped himself to, he realized something.

He felt… better.

Antonio hadn't even seen Feliciano and he already felt _better_. There was something soothing and calm about Feliciano's apartment. Maybe it reminded Antonio of his mother- that was probably it. The knickknacks on almost every surface, fresh flowers in the kitchen, the smell of coffee and cleaning agents, the soft, brightly-covered upholstery, and the rosary on the bookshelf. Antonio frowned at the rosary just as he noticed it. It made sense for his mother, a very devout Catholic woman, to keep a rosary in the living room where she often read at night. But why did Feliciano still have one? Antonio couldn't even remember where his _was_ and _he_ had been the one in denial all these years.

Which, of course, he had been.

Antonio sighed and gripped the coffee mug between his hands.

"_One of these days, you're going to realize that you're just a bloody idiot, Antonio. You're a scared little Catholic boy, aren't you? Too scared to be different, to be _yourself_. You're going to wake up and realize it and it's going to be too fucking late. I never thought I'd be disappointed in you. I thought you were better than that. But no, you're just a fucking wanker like almost every other man I've met. I'm not here to be a cheap lay, you tosser!"_

Antonio curled over, groaning softly. He pressed his forehead to the lip of his coffee mug, breathing in the intoxicating smell of it.

He didn't want to remember! What was it about Lovino that made every demon in Antonio come to the surface? What was it about Lovino that made him everything he _wasn't_ and yet made him so stupidly happy? How could he hate himself so _much_ and yet love _Lovino_ even more?

"Antonio- oh, ve~ What's wrong, Antonio?" Feliciano's terrified voice exclaimed. Antonio looked up and threw his hand up to cover his face, momentarily blinded as Feliciano flicked on the lights.

He hadn't even noticed he had been sitting in the dark.

"_Lo siento, _Feli. I hadn't meant to… I was just thinking…" Antonio tried to apologized, to explain, but he broke off and stared into his mug, blinking away the spots in his vision as Feliciano hurried across the room towards him. He grinned weakly at Feli as the younger man dropped to his knees at Antonio's side. "Sorry, I helped myself to your coffee."

Feliciano shook his head rapidly and placed his hands around Antonio's, around the still hot mug between Antonio's palms.

"No, no. Don't apologize. I'm your friend, Tony. I've been so worried. I haven't heard from you in weeks and you never returned my calls and Lovino's been acting weird and hasn't been coming by and Bella has been calling asking if I've seen you because you haven't been answering her calls, either, and she hasn't seen you in weeks. And now you show up looking like _this_, no, I'm just glad you're here. I called in Marino to take over in the kitchen when Felicia told me how sick you looked. She didn't exaggerate at all, ve. You don't look like yourself at _all_," Feliciano babbled on, now and then rubbing Antonio's wrists or touching his forehead before returning his grip to Antonio's hands.

Antonio chuckled wryly. "I guess I can't hide much."

"Nope! But I can't either, so it's okay. How about some pizza? I do _love_ pizza when I'm feeling down. I also have some very yummy chocolate gelato in the freezer. Homemade, too. Sent from my cousin, Felicia's mama, just this morning. I've been waiting all day to taste it! It'll taste much better sharing it, ve~ Now, let me pop downstairs and grab that pizza I put in for table twelve. They're regulars, so they won't mind the wait. They're half-drunk and won't even notice," he winked at Antonio, making the Spaniard laugh again, this time with gusto. Feliciano's face lit up with a delighted smile. "There he is! I'm so glad you came back, my friend."

Feliciano bounded from the room, leaving the smell of flour and tomatoes in his wake, as well as something indefinably cheery and content.

_It was definitely a good idea to come_, Antonio decided.

Pizza really did hit the spot. Feliciano always added extra sauce and extra cheese, and all the hot, gooey, tomato-y mess of it was perfect. They drank two bottles of red wine, sang along with the music downstairs, and finished the entire carton of gelato. At the end of the night, they sat on the balcony, feet hanging over the street, leaning on each other to keep the other upright, and sipping at the last of the second bottle. Feliciano was singing softly, swinging his legs while Antonio swirled the wine in his glass and watched the lights of Rome shine.

"Hey, Feli, would you mind if I got serious?" Antonio finally breathed aloud after fighting himself the entire night. Feliciano's soft voice cut off. Antonio felt the smaller man shift and then Feli's voice was directly beneath his ear.

"Ve, 'bout what, Tony?"

"How'd… when… when didja realize you were gay? Was it forever, or was it because of that boy?" Antonio murmured. He felt Feliciano's breath catch.

"You know… about… the boy?" Feliciano gasped, looking up and treating Antonio to his wide, brown-eyed gaze.

"Oh, um, yeah. A while back, Lovi told me about your parents when I saw that picture and about that boy. I'm sorry, do ya mind?" Antonio questioned awkwardly. Feliciano looked away, frowning, but it seemed more pensive than angry.

"No. I'm not angry," Feliciano replied softly. Antonio let the silence drag on, leaving it to Feliciano to bring it back up.

"I… I guess I'm not sure. About when I realized it, I mean," Feliciano answered slowly. He moved again, this time to face towards Rome and to place his wineglass down. "I was always more comfortable in dresses as a child. I always liked it when my mama played with my hair and read me stories about princesses. I always wanted to be the princess, you know? I never wanted to be the knight. When she died… there was no one to share it with. Lovi… he… hurt too much to play, I think. He didn't want to remember Mama and Papa. He wanted to hide his hurt away, but I only felt better when I remembered. Nobody knew me like Mama did, no one understood how much I liked those dresses and the stories and the games. I liked being her daughter and now I couldn't be anymore. It was hard to understand and hard to explain when you're only eight, though, ve…"

"I'm sorry. I don't understand. I never wanted to be a girl and I never had someone that close to me die. I can't…I can't understand. Even if I wanted to, I can't think about someone I love dying," Antonio muttered a few moments later. He almost toppled over as Feliciano twisted around. Feliciano grasped Antonio's hand, his face earnest as tears gathered on his lashes.

"No, don't! Don't try that! It's okay if you don't understand! I'm glad—_glad_ you don't. I don't want you to understand!" Feliciano exclaimed. Antonio blinked as Feliciano sniffled. He grinned, set down his wineglass, and ruffled Feliciano's hair.

"You're too cute, really. Always caring 'bout everyone else, even when _you're_ the one that's sad. C'mere," Antonio raised his arm and Feliciano cuddled close. Antonio glanced up as Feliciano hummed happily. "So… it hasn't always just been hypothetical, though, right?"

"High… hypo… hypoallergenic?" Feliciano stammered in confusion, using the only word he could think of that began with 'hypo'. Antonio pressed his lips together tightly.

"You've dated," Antonio choked out when he felt himself in control. He didn't want to laugh _at_ Feliciano.

"_Ohhh_, why didn't you just say that? Yes, I have, a bit. A few boys in high school, though nothing too far. And then, in culinary school, I met a man. He wasn't a chef, he was in Venice- oh, that's where I grew up, by the way. I went back for college, but came down here again. I don't like being far from my family. Anyway, so I met this man at the café I was working at. Said he was in town for pleasure only. He said he hadn't been to Venice yet and felt he couldn't go on without seeing it at least once. Then, he offered me a drink when I got off the clock. A week. A week long affair. It was _dazzling_. He had a very strange, heavy accent and whenever I remember it I still get shivers. Have you ever been to Turkey, Tony?"

"Yeah, I went to Istanbul for a month. Great place. The guy was Turkish?"

"Yup! Very sexy older man, a little scuffy, dark skin. Hmm, a little darker than you," Feliciano mused, picking up Antonio's hand and poking the back of it. Antonio grinned.

"I used to be even darker than this. I played football in high school. My mom used to say I was as dark as a Turk," Antonio joked. Feliciano laughed his high, bubbly laugh that always made Antonio laugh, too.

"Why were you asking, Tony? Are you finally coming out the closet?" Feliciano teased, passing Antonio's lax hand between his palms, as if tossing a ball between his hands.

"…dunno…Everything's muddled and messed up. Dunno what I want…or maybe I want too much…" Antonio replied lowly. Feliciano continued to mess with Antonio's hand and fingers.

"Lovi told me you were painting him. He told me weeks and weeks ago. He said in return for the pictures he took. He hasn't told me if you finished, though," Feliciano brought up suddenly.

Antonio felt his neck burn as he remembered that day… that first time… "Yeah," he blurted thickly, his throat feeling clogged. "I finished."

"Are you sure you're finished?"

Antonio jerked. Bright green eyes looked down onto auburn hair, but Feliciano kept his gaze on their hands on his lap.

"It seems strange that I haven't seen you in weeks, haven't even heard from you, and then Lovino stops showing up for lunch and a nap, and Bella's worried that Lovi's going to break up with her, and Lovino hangs up whenever I try to ask. And Bella's worried you might be sick and then you show up, looking… _sad_, talking about being gay and Lovi told you about our parents. You must've seen Lovi more than me _or_ Bella if you painted him and he was talking to you about _that_," Feliciano noted quietly. Antonio didn't answer, but Feliciano dropped his hand. "You're keeping secrets, aren't you? Neither of you are good at it, you know."

"I dunno if I can talk about it," Antonio whispered.

"But that's why you came, right? You need to talk. You don't like it. Whatever this secret is, it's hurting you," Feliciano whispered back, touching Antonio's cheek, just below the eye. "Have you been sleeping well?"

Antonio flinched away and got to his feet. "I should go."

"Let me explain about Lovino," Feliciano replied simply, turning towards Rome's lights again.

Antonio froze.

"Lovino isn't good with people. They confuse him. He's always been shy and, well, cranky. Even with our parents he could be… well, _himself_. It's hard for him to be honest about himself. He's honest about _everything_, but not about his own feelings. He shuts down. I don't think he was _exactly _like that when we were kids, but it was difficult for him to be openly affectionate. Losing our parents, people he trusted above all else, people he relied on, I think that hurt him more than it hurt me, because it's just so hard for him.

"It didn't help that our family passed us around a lot when we were younger. He always thought it was because of _him_. He would pick fights for me, you see. Whenever I was teased, or picked on, he would get so angry for me. He hated…he hated being noticed. He hated it when people looked at us, because he thought they were all judging us…_pitying_ us. He hates pity. He's so…he's so awkward and confused when people are kind to them. He can never tell if they really just pity him. So he hates it when people look and he hates it that I'm _different_- that I've always been different," Feliciano told Antonio. He paused to drain the last of his wine and stood up, stretching.

"I asked him…" Feliciano looked towards Antonio. Antonio had leaned over to brace his elbow on the balcony railing, his shoulders hunched forward. "I asked him, once, if he was okay with you…you know, being gay. He told me he wasn't."

"But it's not exactly true, is it?" Feliciano prompted, smiling. "Or maybe it's true, but not because I'm _gay_, really, it's because I'm too honest about it. People look at me, people see me and they see something different. People _know_ I'm different. He sees them looking, he sees them judging, maybe even hating me or pitying me, and that's what he hates. We're not in grade school and he can't punch the bullies anymore," Feliciano explained with a laugh. Antonio laughed a bit, too.

"He's still not very good with kindness," Antonio said suddenly.

"No, he really isn't," Feliciano agreed simply. "And you're a very kind man, aren't you?"

Antonio looked over at him quickly. Feliciano merely smiled. "…I'd like to think so, but…it kinda defeats the purpose of being kind."

"What does?" Feliciano asked, stepping closer and laying his hand on Antonio's arm.

"Well, _knowing_ you're kind. Kindness…kindness isn't kindness if you do it knowingly, if you think, 'well, I want to be kind, so I should do this.' A kind person is kind without thinking about it, because it's in their nature, _si_?"

"_Si_, how nicely you say it," Feliciano observed, his tone becoming teasing, "I didn't know you were a philosopher, Tony."

Antonio smirked over at him. "I have a Frenchman for a best friend. I couldn't help it."

Feliciano laughed. When his giggles ebbed away, his brown eyes lit on Antonio's face. He looked hungry, then, even though they were both full from dinner and wine. "Is there anything else you couldn't help but pick up from this Frenchman friend?" Feliciano asked, leaning close and brushing dark hair from Antonio's face.

Antonio gulped and felt an answering need rising.

"Maybe. I…I should go…"

"Should you? Should you go back where you're keeping a secret that hurts you, Tony? You're so tired. I hate to see you looking like this, but I know there's nothing I can do. That doesn't mean I like it any less. So…" Feliciano tugged on Antonio's elbow, pulling him towards the door. His hand slid down Antonio's arm to finally entwine their fingers. "Spend the night with me."

"That's not going to make this bet—" Antonio broke off. Feliciano had somehow managed to get close enough to rise up on tiptoes and press his lips to Antonio's. His free hand curled into a fist as Feliciano's small body, warm and soft and rather curvy, fitted up against his own. His lips tasted sweet, the lingering traces of wine and chocolate on his tongue making Antonio's mind reel.

And suddenly he wanted him. He wanted to sleep with this cheerful, smiling young man that didn't ask for too much, that merely wanted to laugh and flirt and play. No ties, no strings, no complications.

Antonio pulled away, breathing hard, and Feliciano smiled up at him, head tilted to the side.

"It's all right, Antonio," Feli tugged him into the apartment. "Stop thinking for a night. One entire night to stop caring so much, to stop being so kind. Come and rest with me," Feliciano murmured.

Antonio squeezed his eyes shut tightly, but he let himself be led. They made it to the bedroom, and Antonio knew one certain truth.

"You don't want me to sleep with you, you want more than that. Just…being clear…"

"Oh, no, we'll sleep. Just not right away," Feliciano answered cheerfully. He rose up on his tiptoes again and kissed Antonio's neck, warm lips lingering on his skin. Goosebumps raised Antonio's flesh as he fought a shudder. "I've wanted to make love to you since you walked in my door. Indulge me, Antonio. You'll feel much better in the morning, and so will I."

"I…I can't. I just—I can't…Lov—"

"Don't tell me, Antonio. You'll regret that tomorrow," Feliciano interrupted harshly. Antonio stared at him. Feliciano shook his head, clearing away the dark look his face.

"I don't want you to be guilty. I don't want you to even think about the secret that's killing you. That's the whole point. It's time you let go of it for a while. Maybe I can't help you get out of it completely, but I can help you just forget for a little while. _That's_ something you won't regret. You need a night without poison, without being ashamed," Feliciano said, knocking the wind out of Antonio.

_How could he possibly know_?

Antonio took a step closer, wondering just why it was happening, and why was he going through with it…

_Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday-_

Antonio and Feliciano stared at each other, eyes wide. They blinked and then Feliciano burst into giggles.

_Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend_

"Gilbert—I don't know how to change it—Lovi's yelled at me—" Antonio managed to get his mobile free and froze, staring at the screen.

"Tony, turn it off and come on," Feliciano said, leaning against the doorjamb. "You should stop it now." Antonio glanced up, eyes wide. Feliciano smiled softly. "It isn't good for you, all these secrets and lying. You're cracking up, Tony. I'll be a lot better for you, ve."

Antonio smiled tightly, his fingers gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles whitened. "Yeah, I know."

_Friday, Friday, gettin' down on Friday, Everybody's lookin' forward to th- _

He flipped open the phone. "Hey, what's up, Lovi? You got out late—_ay_, you never told me to come—okay…uh…yeah, I'll be there…"

He snapped it shut and smiled that tight, wistful smile. "I'm sorry, Feli."

Feliciano shrugged, though his brown eyes were pained. "It's your choice, Tony. But I'm not offering again."

"I got that," Antonio backed up and turned towards the front door.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?" He looked over his shoulder, eyebrows high. Feliciano waved and smiled.

"Just remember I'm your friend. As your friend, I really think you need to start talking, not just thinking. A whole lot of people are hurting right now — remember that, ve?"

Antonio frowned, his shoulders slumping. Then, he was out the door. Feliciano sighed and went into his room, alone.

.

Later that night, as Lovino slept next to him, Antonio stared up at the ceiling. _A whole lot of people are hurting right now _— _remember that, ve?_

_How could I forget? Every time I'm with him it just gets worse. It's impossible to forget. But I can't stop needing him in my life. I can't stop loving him now that I have him. I can't give up what I got. _Antonio covered his eyes with the back of his wrist and clenched his teeth so hard they squeaked. _I'm trying so hard, I tell myself every day not to, but I keep coming back. I'm addicted and I can't stop taking. I need him so much. What is wrong with me?! Love shouldn't be like this! Love shouldn't hurt so bad! It shouldn't be this messed up! Why can't he just admit he loves me? And why can't I admit it? Why is everything so damn wrong?_

Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, streaming down his cheeks, dripping into his ears, onto his hair and the pillow beneath his head. Soft, choked sounds escaped his mouth, but he bit down on his lip, swallowing the sounds, though they stuck in his throat and choked him there anyway.

He knew, sooner or later, they _would_ have to talk. That time was getting closer, and maybe that's why he couldn't speak, couldn't reveal his heart. Just like the first time, it scared him. Holy Mother of God, it scared the shit out of him how much he loved Lovino.

He was even more terrified that Lovino would leave him.

So he swallowed his words and his fears and feasted on the nights and early morning that Lovino gifted him with. He was starving and only Lovino filled him. In those lonely empty hours during the day, he could only wait for more.

He trudged home early that day, before even Lovino woke up. He hadn't slept at all and felt like shit. His eyes were itchy and dry, his face tight, his nose achy, and his legs were heavy. He kind of smelled like sex, and he was still in his grungy clothes from yesterday. Lovino had lectured him for about ten minutes, forcing him into a shower and complaining that his old tanktop needed to be burned.

Antonio had laughed along and then devoured Lovino's mouth to shut out the words. Pretending like it was normal, that it was perfectly fine and normal—it hurt too much.

He pushed open the door and then cursed in Spanish. "I left the door unlocked? That was stupid!"

"Nah, we woulda had to break a window if you hadn't," drawled a man's voice in the brisk tones of German.

Antonio stared into his flat, green eyes wide.

"He looks like _shit_, Gilbert. Why did we ever leave him alone so long?" sighed another man's silky bass voice in French.

Gilbert sat at a kitchen stool, leaning back on the bar, resting on his elbows so that two legs of the stool hovered over the cheap, age-stained tile. His white hair gleamed in the morning sunlight and a cup of still steaming coffee sat on the island's counter top by his arm. He was smirking mischievously, red eyes glittering. Francis sat over in the window, eyeing Antonio beside the tomato plants as the stray cat that had adopted Antonio twined beneath his outstretched hand. A cigarette hung from his lips and his gorgeous, wavy blond hair was gathered on top of his head in a ponytail tied by a bright red hair tie. Blue eyes peered at him, sudden concern filling his face shadowed by the scruffy beard he still sported.

"Antonio, _mon ami_, you really do look terrible. What is wrong?" Francis asked, worried.

"Oh, come off it, he was just out all night doing only God knows what, and is probably blushing about up on His shiny, virginal, Heavenly throne. Who's the sweet piece this time, Tony?" Gilbert taunted, rocking forward with a loud crack on the tiles and chugging down some coffee.

"I'm gay."

Gilbert choked and Francis sighed.

"Well, Jesus H. Christ, Tony, don't kill a man," Gilbert sputtered, wiping coffee from his chin and lips.

"I see that this just isn't another fling then?" Francis murmured, tapping his cigarette free of ash and then smothering it.

Antonio groaned and threw himself onto his messy bed. "Why are you guys even here?"

"Dude, seriously? I sent you like three emails-"

"_I_ sent you a very beautifully written letter that arrived three days ago, according to that pile of mail you've apparently been ignoring-"

"-saying we'd be here last night and you're gonna take me partying. Then, we show up and your flat's a shitty mess-"

"You really do need better homemaking skills. However, your bathroom is much nicer than expected… and previously experienced…"

"-and you gone! Stop talking, Fran!" Gilbert snapped. Francis shrugged.

"That still doesn't explain why. I didn't read any of what you sent. Sorry, Gil, Francis," Antonio muttered, rubbing his face.

"You should get on some decent clothes and let's get some breakfast. We're in_ Italia_. The best food in the world—excepting French. We need lattes and plenty of heavy, much-too-fattening food before finding out just where you've been all night, why you suddenly announce you're gay, and then explaining just what brought us here," Francis announced.

Antonio sighed and pulled himself up. "Do I have to change?"

"_Oui_, and then burn what you're wearing."

"I wouldn't burn it, but I definitely wouldn't go out in public like that. What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Too damn much," Antonio muttered, stumbling towards his closet.

Gilbert and Francis exchanged a look. Gilbert's mouth twisted into a rueful smirk before he chugged the rest of his coffee down. Francis merely sighed again and watched Antonio dress from the corner of his eye.

Antonio had always looked better without his clothes on for more than _one_ reason.


End file.
